my place:
mostly brick with
one cast iron door;

bright azure and tall,
no windows so you cant really breathe
any fresh air in here      hear
the click of my boot heels clicking
further away from you, clacking,
interminable door slam,
the echo of a lock,
the impenetrable absence that thirty years of
disengagement birthed.

and you,
stubborn diamond blade,
hair tucked behind ear,
eyes like open streams
when you know i’m just thirsty,
staring.

you manage to find a soft spot in the mortar
and start
biting.

 

“doors”

 

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